


tears won't let you see the stars

by honey_deux



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, They're all dead, but grantaire is in love with enjolras, e/r not really established, enjolras took all twelve bullets, except grantaire and marius, what if grantaire had survived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_deux/pseuds/honey_deux
Summary: What if Grantaire hadn't woken up?What if he had stayed slumped against the table when the shots rang out against Enjolras' chest?What if he had never seen his smile?What if Grantaire had survived?What if? What if? What if?





	tears won't let you see the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is a really really did i mention REALLY short thing that i wrote on a whim, title is from a mix by Syros on youtube, "don't cry when the sun is gone because tears won't let you see the stars" 
> 
> i'm really bad at writing canon era stuff so, y'know

Grantaire wants to cry.

In a time long ago, of cafes and alcohol and the smell of hope and passion hanging in the air, a hand would be put on his shoulder, a soft voice murmured in his ear,

_(“Don’t cry when the sun is gone, because tears won’t let you see the stars.”)_

 “Oh, Prouvaire.” Grantaire smiles despite himself, gentle eyes following long, soft locks of ginger above him, Jehan’s forever-tender gaze fixed on his own. “How can one live without sunshine? Hyacinth was never destined to outlive Apollo; now I am basking in the eclipse of the shadows, what use is there for stars now, when I have been left with nothing but the dark side of the moon?”

He gets kicked out of the bar with a black eye, slumps against the brick of a dark alley, laughs as he gives up searching for his missing wallet, laughs as the rain falls in torrents around him.

_(It wasn’t Jehan, he realizes later. He had already seen Jehan at what remained of the barricade, long hair still braided and smooth but this time stained a deeper red, eyes still wide and emerald green but this time dark and unseeing.)_

Grantaire doesn’t cry, yet.

Grantaire does drown himself in the abyss of intoxication.

_(In death, Enjolras’ face is peaceful, void of the soaring faith, the blazing passion.)_

Grantaire drinks.

 _(He had been killed with respect, Grantaire heard. Alone, Enjolras had no wound but the twelve bullets that pierced his chest. Something in Grantaire screams the significance of_ you could have taken four. _)_

To have reached the dismal point of which one’s mind is filled with twilight dimness, is what Grantaire wishes. To not feel anything, he thinks, would be a luxury.

_(He thinks of their bodies laid out neatly, the guide and the centre placed on each side of the fearless leader. He thinks of their hopeful faces and their passionate voices and their rebellious shouts. He thinks of their eyes once ablaze, closed. Their voices once deafening, muted. The hope they carried, lost.)_

Grantaire can’t seem to quell the yearning that tightens his chest, that burns in his throat every time he downs the absinthe. Three full bottles become one and a half, then none.  


—

 

When Grantaire stumbles out of Paris, his hair is untamed and the lack of blade against his chin has resulted in waves of messy, dark curls.

“Where shall we go now?”

_(“You plan to leave without an idea, a plan, of where you are going?”)_

“Spontaneity is important, Apollo.”

_(“Grantaire, you are impossible.”)_

Grantaire smiles fondly. “I take pride in that.”

_(“You aren’t going to Marius’ wedding?”)_

He laughs. “The noodle did not even bother sending an invitation. He’d much sooner fight Napoleon himself than have a drunk like me at his wedding.” Grantaire stops, thoughtful. “Tell you what, Enjolras. We shall leave Paris, but remain in your beloved Patria.”

_(“Where will you go?”)_

“Anywhere. I cannot stand seeing your blood on the streets anymore, my friend.”

 

_(“Very well.”)_


End file.
